3 October 2011--Corn flakes, orange juice, yogurt, scrambled eggs, sausage, toast, beans, tomato, mushrooms, coffee, oh yeah.
Set out for a walk this morning, starting in the center of town. I'm not quite sure what to make of Seahouses. There is still some commercial fishing based in its harbor, but, like many such places, it seems to be more of a holiday town these days. The big draw is boat trips to the Farne Islands, a major bird sanctuary, visible just a few miles offshore. There are no fewer than six operators with booths down by the waterfront. But the place does not have the ticky-tack atmosphere of so many British seaside resorts. There's an amusement arcade for the kiddies, and a fair-sized souvenir shop, but they are not terribly obtrusive. I suppose things are more lively midsummer, but still it must be relatively low-key. It's pretty quiet in early October, anyway. I like it.
South I go along Annstead Beach, to Beadnell, with its tiny harbor and ruined lime kilns. It's a distance of about three miles-- I brought a hand-held GPS with me, but neglected to bring it along today, so cannot measure accurately. From there, it's perhaps another three miles to Low Newton-by-the-sea, along the beach at Beadnell Bay. It's much cooler today, clouds hanging over the coast, a fairly stiff wind blowing into my face (which will of course be at my back on the return). It's such a lovely walk, it hardly matters.
At Low Newton, I find the Ship Inn, where I have a kipper and a pint from the in-house brewery. Both are excellent, and eating al fresco doesn't hurt.
The sun emerges on the return trip. Periodic threatening squalls pass harmlessly to the north or south. I take the path behind the dunes, then pick up an inland trail I figure will be more direct. It is that, but not really any faster--it crosses several fields recently plowed under, which makes the trail hard to find, and mushy walking to boot. Still, I see a few things I wouldn't have had I stayed on the beach.
Dinner tonight is in the Olde Ship. The menu promises a level of sophistication which is not delivered. Veggies boiled to mush, in finest British culinary tradition. The place needs a good chef. The beer, on the other hand, is well kept.
I have my last pints of the evening in the Black Swan, a pub I walked by this morning on my way out of town. Seems to be more the locals' pub. Very quiet tonight. There's some Pulteney left in the bottle back in my room.